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Previous Chapter: A Silly Thing to Keep Secret
Isla was late for Monday-morning coffee, but Dave was later. Before he came, Kim leaned across the cluttered kitchen table and said in a mischievous tone, “So . . . what did you think of Danny Fisher?”
Isla’s thoughts were miles away from Danny Fisher. “I didn’t,” she said simply.
“Didn’t what?” Kim tilted her head to one side, brunette bob swishing.
“Didn’t think of Danny Fisher . . . Oh,” Isla said, as understanding dawned, “oh, I see. That invitation to pie was a set-up. And I thought you just wanted my company.”
“Of course I did! We also wanted Danny not to spend the holiday alone. But, you know, we also thought . . . maybe you’d like to get to know him. It was just an idea.” Kim shrugged, playful mood gone.
“Maybe, I don’t know. He’s a nice enough guy. I haven’t thought about it. I’ve been too busy thinking about this floozy of Dave’s.” Isla rattled her spoon in her coffee cup distractedly.
“Don’t put it that way.”
“What way?” Isla took a big gulp of coffee.
“Well, ‘floozy’ to begin with. She’s a human being. And you make it sound like they’re. . . I don’t know, a couple or something, but she’s someone he’s trying to help.”
“Well, I don’t think that’s all there is to it . . . oh, speak of the devil . . .” Dave was jiggling the loose doorknob in the old wooden porch door. Isla tipped back in her chair and opened it for him.
“Thanks.” Dave peeked in, all smiles above a hand-knit scarf.
“Kettle’s all hot,” Kim gestured towards the stove, smiling but not really hiding the tension that had been building in her conversation with Isla.
“Thanks.” Dave put his tea bag in a mug, poured the steaming water over it, and settled in the third chair at the table. “What did I miss?”
Isla looked uncomfortably at Kim. “Not much. We were just talking about Thanksgiving.”
“Beautiful day, wasn’t it?” Dave seemed in an unusually good mood. Like someone newly in love, thought Isla.
“It was good.” Isla usually carried the conversation and without her active participation, it was falling a little flat.
“What’s up?” Dave asked, unsuspecting, glancing back and forth between the two women as he bobbed his tea bag.
“I guess my feelings are a little hurt that you didn’t introduce me to your friend,” Isla answered, baiting him.
“My friend?” He was genuinely confused.
“Yeah . . . you slipped off to have cake in the kitchen with her?”
“Oh.” Isla didn’t like the way he smiled coyly into his tea without meeting her eyes.
“Well, I . . . Lacey is kind of shy. She’s not very comfortable meeting new people.”
“Or maybe you’re shy of having new people meet Lacey?” Dave looked at her quizzically. “Because they might tell you she’s not your type,” Isla elaborated.
“Not my ‘type’ how?”
“Dave,” Isla said impatiently, gesturing towards his herbal tea, “you hardly even touch caffeine. You live squeaky clean. She is not your type.”
“Type of what?” His brown eyes met Isla’s frankly. He wasn’t going to let her hide behind suggestion and innuendo. Attempting to put her feelings into words made them seem so harsh. She hesitated.
“Type of . . . she’s not a good friend for you. Or . . . well, girlfriend.”
“As you say, you haven’t been introduced. You don’t know her at all. That seems like a sweeping statement to make with no knowledge.”
Isla sighed impatiently. It was no use tiptoeing around it. “Come on, Dave. I saw her . . . I saw her arms. She’s not even trying to hide it. You couldn’t at least find a nice, functional, white-collar prescription drug addict? She’s . . .”
“She’s what?” Dave was painfully calm and direct.
“She’s a . . . a . . .”
“If you have something to say, just say it.” His tone should have been defensive, but instead, it seemed to be gently nudging her to go forward.
But Isla couldn’t think how to say it. A dirty addict, a poor addict, a homeless addict, a junkie. Everything sounded cruel. “She . . . she can’t offer anything to you.”
“I’m not looking for anything.”
“She can’t offer anything to you except heartache.”
“Sometimes heartache is part of being human. Look, is it any wonder that I didn’t introduce you to her? She doesn’t need you to tell her she’s no good. She tells herself that all day, every day.” Dave’s tone was still quiet and measured, yet Isla got the message that he was more upset than she’d ever seen him. He hesitated, then drank the rest of his tea in one gulp and stood to go. “I need to get over to the studio.”
Isla rubbed her temples with her fingertips. “I’m coming off like a jerk here, Dave, I know that and I’m sorry. But you’ve become a good friend and I see you headed for trouble. Nobody says this stuff, nobody talks about it. You want to help this . . . this woman, and I want to help you, and maybe we’re both stepping out on a limb, but . . . I think you’re going to get hurt and I don’t want that for you.”
“You think that way because you took one look at Lacey and decided that you knew everything about her that you needed to know, that one thing. And you might be right, because people hurt each other. Caring is risky. The risk factors in this case are maybe more obvious than some. You’re a businesswoman and counting the cost is your job; I get it. But there is more to Lacey than the marks on her arms, so much more. Next time I have the chance, I’ll introduce you.” Dave put on his coat; Isla could see that he was still upset. “I’ll see you ladies later.” Cold air swirled in as he opened and shut the door quickly.
Isla looked at Kim. “See?”
“See what?”
“He didn’t deny it.”
“Deny what, exactly?”
“That he’s in love with her.”
“That’s ridiculous, Isla. It didn’t even come up.” Kim headed to the sink with the coffee cups.
“Sure, it came up. Didn’t you see him smile when I first mentioned her? Didn’t you see how defensive he is about her?”
“I think you’re reading way too much into it. He’s trying to help her, that’s all. And maybe he’s not doing it the right way, whatever that is, but who are we if we don’t try to help, even if our helping isn’t perfect?” Kim leaned on the counter and studied the gray dishwater.
“Helping is one thing. Falling in love is another.”
Kim sighed. “Time will tell, I guess. Isla . . . is there something more behind this? Some reason you don’t want Dave to be in love with her?”
“I’m just concerned for Dave.”
“Because I didn’t think you were interested in him that way, but . . .” Kim turned to meet Isla’s eyes.
Isla scowled. “No. I’m not. Certainly not. I just thought I was really getting to know him, and now I’m wondering if he’s really who I thought he was.”
“He seems like a kind, quiet guy and I haven’t seen anything to change that.”
“I thought he was better than this.”
“What does that even mean? He’s going out of his way to help her. He’s sacrificing, taking risks for her. How could he be better?”
“He’s in love with some little tramp who batted her eyes and played up her vulnerability to him. I thought he’d have higher standards. He seemed like . . . well, I thought he’d have better taste, better judgment.”
Kim dumped the cold water and started running some fresh hot water into the sink without responding. Then she turned and said, “Seems like you have enough judgment for both of you combined.”
“Kim, that’s not fair.” Isla bit her lip, then blurted out, “Look . . . when we lost track of Robbie, it broke our hearts. It broke my heart. And Lilly’s never known her father. We didn’t have a choice; we loved him way before the drugs. But Dave doesn’t have to get involved in this. You guys are so sweet and naïve. It can’t end well. Dave’s going to get hurt and probably you are, too.”
Kim gave Isla’s shoulders a squeeze. “I’m sorry about Robbie, Isla. And you’re sweet, too. I know you want to protect us. But at some point, we can’t make all our decisions based on not getting hurt, can we? If you want to help people who are hurting, there’s no risk-free way to do it. Is there?”
“I don’t know.” Isla looked at the clock and saw that it was time to go, yet slumped in her chair anyway. “I just don’t know.”
Next Chapter: Somebody's Sons, Somebody's Daughters
Copyright 2025 Jennie Robertson